Barely a second after the sound of the first gunshot pierces the air, a strong arm grabs me around the waist. The next thing I know, I’m plastered to the floor next to Milene, with Mikhail bent over us, protecting us from the line of fire with his body.

  “The service door. Stay low. Now!” he barks over the noise of more gunshots and people screaming.

  I manage to untangle my legs from the train of the dress, scoop up the fabric in one hand, and crab crawl as fast as I can behind Milene toward the door a few yards away. As soon as I make it into the narrow hallway, I lean back against the wall and grab Milene in a tight embrace. She’s shaking like a leaf, her breathing labored, and I am not far behind. I throw a look toward the door, expecting to find Mikhail there, but he’s not in the hallway with us.

  There are two more quick bangs before the gunfire stops altogether, and the only thing I can hear are men yelling and women screaming. I wait a couple of seconds then go back toward the door and glimpse into the room. It’s chaos.

  People are stampeding toward the double doors on the other side of the room, not paying attention to others around them. An older man, who I recognize as one of my father’s cousins, is lying in a puddle of blood, unmoving. Not far from him, a woman is sitting on the floor with two men kneeling on either side of her, one clutching her bleeding arm. More people around the room look hurt, either by the bullets or the stampede, but no one else looks dead or seriously wounded. Several men are walking around the room with their guns drawn, checking on the wounded. I recognize a few of them as the ones who were with Mikhail, but the rest are my father’s men.

  Off to the side, near a wall, Mikhail is standing with a group gathered above the body of a waiter lying prone on the floor. I watch as Mikhail puts his gun in the holster hidden under his jacket and crouches next to the body. He unbuttons the dead man’s right sleeve and pulls it up, inspecting his forearm. My father goes to stand next to Mikhail. They discuss something for a few seconds, then Mikhail turns and walks toward me.

  “Go to your father, Milene,” he says to my sister, then turns to me. “This way.”

  He leads me down the long hallway and through the hotel’s laundry room, where the uniformed staff peek out from behind big service washing machines. We exit through a metal door and turn right toward the parking lot. It feels like I’m moving through a vacuum, not hearing anything and just barely aware of our surroundings. This is the first time I’ve witnessed gunfire outside of the shooting range, and I might be in shock.

  Mikhail approaches a car and opens the passenger door for me. If someone asks me about the model, or even the color of the car I get into, I wouldn’t be able to tell them anything. He calls someone during the drive, but the whole conversation is in Russian, so I have no idea what he says or with whom he speaks.

  Shortly after he ends the call, he parks in the underground garage of a tall modern building. I haven’t been paying attention to where we were going, so the only thing I know is that we’re somewhere downtown.

  Mikhail opens the car door for me, and I follow him to the silver elevator and watch as he passes a keycard over the small display, then presses the button for the top floor. A short time later, the elevator doors open onto a small foyer with only one door directly ahead.

  I take a deep breath. He brought me to his home. I don’t know why this fact hits me so hard. Of course, he would take me to his place. It wasn’t like I expected him to drop me off at my father’s house, but still, it’s like I’m just now grasping the extent of how different my life will be from this point forward. I take another breath and enter Mikhail’s home.

  “Living room, dining room, kitchen, guest bathroom.” Mikhail points around the huge open space lined with floor-to-ceiling windows on the opposite side. “The room I use as a gym. Lena’s room. My office.”

  Who’s Lena? Maybe he has a live-in housekeeper.

  Mikhail turns and points to the other side of the open space. “My bedroom. You can have the guest room next to it.”

  I stare at him, processing what he just said. He won’t make me sleep with him?

  He looks down at me, his one blue eye regarding me with interest, and reaches with his hand to remove a strand of hair that’s fallen over my face, hooking it behind my ear.

  “I don’t force women, Bianca. Is that clear?”

  I nod.

  “Good. I have to go now, and I probably won’t be back before morning. There’s food in the fridge. Eat. Take a shower and go to sleep, you need the rest. Give me your phone.”

  Somehow, the small clutch purse hanging across my chest on a thin gold chain survived this evening’s events. I reach inside, take out my phone, and give it to him reluctantly. I didn’t expect him to confiscate it.

  Instead of taking my phone away, he starts typing.

  “I’m entering my number, as well as the number of the security desk downstairs. If you need anything, you can message me. I may not be able to message you back right away, but I’ll do it as soon as I can.” He offers my phone back, and I slowly raise my hand and take it.

  “Feel free to go around and explore, but my office is off-limits. Everything else is okay. Are we clear on that?”

  I nod again and keep staring at him, expecting him to say something like “See you in the morning” or “Good night,” but instead, he just reaches over and traces his finger down the back of my hand, his touch featherlight. It lasts just for a second, and then he’s gone without a word.

  What a strange man.

  “He had an Albanian gang tattoo on the inside of his forearm,” I tell Roman. “Do you think it’s Dushku?”

  “Possible. Maybe he found out it was me who offed his friend Tanush. Or maybe he was mad because we beat him in making a deal with the Italians.”

  “It could be both.” I nod. “Or someone wants us to think it was Dushku. They sent only one man, and half of the people in that room were armed. It was a suicide mission. And how very convenient that he had a tattoo connecting him to the Albanians. Something doesn’t add up.”

  Roman leans forward, drumming his fingers on the desk. “It could be the Italians playing us, setting the stage for something bigger. They were in charge of security for the wedding, and an armed man managed to get through.” He points his finger at me. “You need to watch your wife. Watch her very closely.”

  “I will.” I nod and leave the pakhan’s office.

  On my way back home, I think about what Roman said. Is he right? Could Bianca be acting as a spy for her father? It would be a great opportunity—one I was sure a capo as ruthless as Bruno Scardoni wouldn’t miss. Still, I have a feeling that isn’t the case here. The distaste I saw in Bianca’s eyes every time she looked at her father couldn’t be faked. Yes, my wife has very expressive eyes.

  I wonder if I should tell her I’m proficient in sign language. It would make the communication much easier, but it would lead to things I’m not ready to discuss with her yet. We’ll have to manage without sign language for now.

  When I’m stressed, I either clean or cook. There is nothing here to clean. Everything is spotless. So, I head into the kitchen and start looking for ingredients to make my quick cheese pasta.

  Earlier, I showered in the guest bathroom and spent some time walking around Mikhail’s place. The apartment is crazy huge—spanning the whole top floor of the building and decorated in a modern style, mostly glass and dark wood combined with white accents. I checked out the kitchen first, which is a chef’s dream and fully stocked. I stumbled on a few interesting items such as cocoa in the pantry, small packs of strawberry yogurt in the fridge, and a drawer full of sweets. My husband doesn’t strike me as a person who likes sweets and strawberry yogurt, but hey, people have strange tastes.

  Next was Mikhail’s bedroom. It felt wrong poking around in there, so I just went to his closet and took the first T-shirt I saw. I was not sleeping in a towel or naked. Wearing no panties was bad enough already.

  After Mikhail’s bedroom, I skipped the housekeeper’s room and stopped in the doorway to the gym, confused. I expected a bunch of high-end bodybuilding machines, a treadmill, and similar items. Instead, there was just a rack with old school weights of different sizes in one corner, a pull-up bar next to it, and a punching bag. Everything was lined along the wall across from the floor-to-ceiling windows, and it didn’t take up even a fifth of the room. What a waste of space. He could’ve easily added another room in there. From the gym I went back straight to the kitchen, ignoring the door to his office.

  When I finish cooking the pasta, I make myself a plate and leave the pot with the rest on the counter. I look around, searching for something to write with and some paper, and eventually find a pen in one of the drawers. No paper though. I take the empty pasta box, tear one side, then sit at the dining table and start writing on the cardboard.

  When I’m done, I leave the note on the floor next to the front door, where Mikhail can’t miss it, and go back into the guest room.

  I pick up the piece of cardboard lying on the floor and start reading.

  I made pasta. I left it on the counter.

  I borrowed one of your T-shirts. I hope you don’t mind.

  With everything that’s happened, I forgot I need to drop by my father’s house and pick up a bag with my clothes. Can you drop me by tomorrow to get it?

  We may need to stop by a store where I can buy a change of clothes. I can’t go to my father’s house wearing only your T-shirt.

  I couldn’t find coffee in the kitchen. My name is Bianca, and I am a caffeine addict. If you have it somewhere, please message me the location before you go to sleep. I’m not the most pleasant person in the morning before I get my hit.

  My lips curl slightly at that last line, and I head toward the door to the guest room, which is slightly ajar. Bundled under a thick duvet, Bianca is sleeping soundly, her hair tangled around her head. I lean onto the doorway and watch her sleeping form until the light of dawn starts seeping into the room.

  Chapter 3

  It’s almost nine when I wake up, and I find it rather surprising that I slept like a log for eight hours in a stranger’s home. When I went to bed the previous night, I was out the moment my head hit the pillow. Maybe it’s some bizarre aftereffect of being shot at.

  After dropping by the bathroom to take care of my screaming bladder, and to brush my teeth, I head to the kitchen. On the counter next to the coffee machine, I find my note, one corner of it sitting under a bag of unopened coffee beans. Next to each of my notes, there are comments in neat handwriting.

  Thank you.

  I don’t mind.

  Yes.

  I called my housekeeper and told her to buy something for you to wear tomorrow until we get your things. She’ll leave it on the counter.

  Far right cupboard, top shelf. But you can put it wherever you want.

  Next to the note, there’s a paper bag. I look inside and take out a pair of gray yoga pants and two T-shirts. At the bottom, there’s some underwear and socks. There are no shoes, so it looks like I’ll be pairing my strappy heels with yoga pants and a T-shirt when we go to get my things. Classy.

  After a small detour to the guest room to put on some underwear, I make myself a cup of coffee, grab a banana from the bowl, and climb onto a tall chair at the breakfast bar separating the kitchen and the dining room. I should probably message Milene.

  09:22 Bianca: Just checking in to let you know that everything is okay. Did Uncle Fredo survive? Was anyone else seriously hurt yesterday? Are you okay?

  09:23 Milene: He’s gone. I heard Dad this morning saying Fredo was only spending the family’s money and I quote, “At least something good came out of that wedding.” Agapito’s lover got a bullet in her arm, but I think that’s it. Can’t wait to leave this idiotic life.

  09:26 Bianca: Father won’t finance your college, Milene.

  09:28 Milene: Nonna Giulia said she’ll pay for it. Three more months and bye bye Cosa Nostra bullshit. Dad is going to lose it, ha ha! Is everything okay there? I want the full report. How did it go? How is he? Did you have to sleep with him?

  09:25 Bianca: He’s okay, I guess. A little strange. Doesn’t talk much. He just dropped me off yesterday and went somewhere. Work, I think. I haven’t seen him since.

  09:26 Milene: WTF? On his wedding night? I guess you were lucky. I have to go, the teacher is coming over.

  There are two more new messages, one from my mother and one from Angelo. I read Angelo’s text first.

  02:11 Angelo: Congratulations sis. Who’s the lucky groom? The connection here is awful, I didn’t hear half of the things Dad said when he called.

  I look at the message and sigh. Angelo never found anything wrong with the tradition of arranged marriages. It was expected, and, therefore, must be done. From what I’ve overheard, Father already arranged for him to marry Don Agosti’s granddaughter. But Isabella and Angelo already know each other. It’s not the same situation, though, and I’d be lying if I said I expected him to be so blasé.

  09:29 Bianca: Mikhail Orlov. When are you coming back? And what are you doing in Mexico anyway?

  The next message is from Mom. I open it and a bunch of text fills the screen. I groan, decrease the font size, and start reading her essay.

  07:44 Mom: You were so beautiful yesterday. Everybody talked about it. And that dress was worth every penny. Catalina’s mother asked me where we purchased it so she can order one for Catalina. That woman is always copying us. I can’t stand her. Too bad everything ended so abruptly. I can’t believe Fredo got shot and died, but I guess it’s better him than someone else. He was over eighty. Did you notice that Luca Rossi came alone? Simona never liked me, but to miss your wedding? I never understood how those two ended up together. It’s such a shame for a man like Luca to end up with a bitch like her. Someone should tell him it’s time for him to cut that hair of his, it’s not proper. He’s a capo, for God's sake.

  I close my eyes and sigh. My mom’s priorities have always been rather strange. It’s not her fault. If she wasn’t a capo’s wife, I’m positive she would have been a serial killer, or something similar. It's not like she was diagnosed, but I’m almost certain my mother is a borderline sociopath. I wonder at which point in her message she’ll ask about how I’m handling being married to a stranger. I continue reading her novel-length text.

  Since you’re done with ballet, you’ll have more free time now. We should go shopping together one day, I’m sure the distraction would do you good. I have no idea what your father was thinking when he agreed to marry you to that man. Honestly, I’m glad I didn’t have my glasses yesterday, so I couldn’t see that well. I tried contacts again yesterday morning, but my eyes started itching. Maybe I should try another brand. Allegra says he’s monstrous. Is that true? You should have married Marcus . . .

  I take a sip of my coffee. Allegra . . . always putting her nose where it doesn’t belong. No, it’s not true. The man has one eye, so what? It’s not like he’s missing half his brain, like Marcus. As for his character . . . I can’t say. We didn’t interact much, so I can’t conclude what kind of man he is. But when that first shot rang out, he covered me and my sister with his body. And that says a lot. Reluctantly, I finish reading.

  How is he treating you? If he raises his voice at you, just let me know and I’ll have your father talk to him. No one treats capo’s daughter with anything less than respect. Please use protection, you’re too young for kids. Love you.

  Yeah, like my father respects me.

  09:42 Bianca: Everything is okay. I’ll let you know about shopping.

  I put my phone down and reach for the coffee cup when the door to the gym opens and Mikhail comes out. It takes tremendous control to keep my jaw from dropping to the floor. Yesterday he was wearing a suit, but even with his jacket on, I noticed he’s packing a nice muscle mass underneath. Now, he’s wearing sweats and a long-sleeved T-shirt which stretches over his impossibly wide shoulders and muscled arms. The man is a powerhouse.

  “I’m going to shower and then we can go get your things,” he says and walks toward his bedroom.

  I follow him with my eyes, feeling a little like a creep. There were a lot of guys in the dance company, and they were all extremely fit, but none of them looked like Mikhail does. I’ve never met anyone who looked like that. He could probably bench press me for hours without even breaking a sweat.

  When I emerge from my room thirty minutes later, wearing my killer outfit of a T-shirt, yoga pants, and strappy heels with sequins, Mikhail is waiting for me by the door. I expected him to be in a suit again, but it looks like he’s not working today since he’s wearing faded black jeans and a black Henley shirt. The man genuinely likes black and, apparently, long sleeves.

  In the garage, Mikhail leads me toward a monstrous SUV. I’m pretty sure it’s not the same car we arrived in last night, because I have no idea how I’m going to get into that thing in my heels. The floor is at least two and a half feet high off the ground.

  Mikhail opens the door for me, and I reach out to take ahold of something to help me up when his hands grasp me around the waist.

  “Need a lift?” he asks in a completely serious tone, his face just a few inches from mine.

  He doesn’t wait for my reply, just lifts me up, deposits me onto the seat, and closes the door.

  “Did you find everything you needed last night?” he asks after he gets in the vehicle. “I told the housekeeper to buy you some basics.”

  I nod. There was a big basket with bodywash, shampoo, conditioner, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and even a new hairbrush left in the bathroom.

  “If you need anything else, message me the list and I’ll send someone to buy it.”

  He starts the car while I pretend to look at the sidewalk, but secretly, I watch him from the corner of my eye. Does he find this situation strange as well? Did he choose to get married, or did his boss order him to? What if he has a girlfriend? Will he continue seeing her? What if he brings her to his apartment while I’m there? Does he expect me to sleep with him?

 

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